Sunset Boulevard by Zoey Dean Read Free Book Online Page B

back into her chair like a queen evaluating a gift of jewels
    from one of her subjects. "Maybe not overnight, but I'm Myla Everhart. My program doesn't
    need twelve steps. Just follow my lead, and you won't feel a thing."
    Myla folded her arms neatly over her chest, cocking her head in that powerful half-grin. The
    mere tilt of her chin seemed to pull the waiter back, almost magnetically, and he asked, "Can I
    get you anything else?" His eyes spoke differently. They said, Please let me get you something
    else, Miss Everhart. I live to serve a girl like you.
    As Myla sent him away with a sweet "No, thank you," she turned back to Jojo, eyebrows
    raised. "So, you in?"
    "In." Jojo nodded.
    As if she had a choice.
    AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MYLA
    "Okay, so, you're getting ready for school the day after someone bitchy--let's say the female
    Rod Stegerson--trashes your Prada shoes for being last season. What do you wear?" Myla
    swung open both sets of double doors to her massive closet. "Show me."
    Jojo felt her jaw drop in awe. She pushed a strand of her thick, almond-hued hair out of her
    violet eyes to get the full view. Myla's closet qualified as the Eighth Wonder of the World. Each
    type of clothing had about twelve feet of rack space in the double-decker closet, which
    stretched all the way up to the twelve-foot-high ceiling and across the longest wall of Myla's
    sprawling room. Fabrics of every texture, organized by color, loomed overhead like a rainbow.
    Myla even had one of those library ladders that slid across the top so she could reach things on
    the highest racks. At the center of all this was a twelve-foot-tall shrine to Myla's shoes, lit from
    above and below with small recessed bulbs. The lights cast each pair of shoes in a glow, giving
    every designer stiletto, sandal, wedge, and boot an aura of divine magnificence.
    "Holy shit," Jojo croaked. She'd already been impressed with Myla's four-poster bed with its
    pristine black-and-white duvet of vintage fashion magazine covers, the white dresser painted
    with brightly hued Pop Art-style daisies, the hulking wide-screen TV and velvety purple
    couch, identical to Jojo's burgundy one. But the closet was intimidating, like some significant
    artwork that you'd go see on a field trip and not know how to describe in your essay afterward.
    "Do you have an answer? Or are you just going to stare?" Myla was sitting across from the
    closet in one of three low fuchsia armchairs clustered around a black cube table. She tapped the
    toe of her Christian Louboutin T-strap sandal against the wood floor, the shoe's fiery orange
    butterfly design appearing to flutter as she did. Her eyes were a jade mystery as she coolly
    regarded Jojo, with her familiar half-smile.
    Jojo frowned. "So you're giving me word problems? If Jojo wears last season's Prada shoes,
    and female Rod makes fun of her, what does Jojo wear tomorrow to show that bitch who's
    boss?" Jojo still wasn't sold on the whole makeover project--mega-makeovers were for the
    movies, or at least reality show contestants. Jojo was just... Jojo. And no quantity of designer
    clothes or Myla maxims could change that. But if going along with the scheme was a means to
    hanging out with Myla, Jojo would take it. She stared down at her feet, thinking. Her favorite
    new shoes, a pair of silver Hollywould wedges that her mom had given her last week, seemed
    to wink back up at her.
    "It's a trick question," Jojo finally said, feeling triumphant. "I wouldn't wear last season's
    shoes!"
    Myla pursed her lips dispassionately. "It is a trick question. But you're wrong." She popped up
    from her chair with a swish of silk, pacing in front of her wardrobe like a general checking the
    barracks. She began to toss items of clothing onto her bed.
    "You could wear this." She threw out a low-cut red Vivienne Westwood sweater. "You could
    wear this." A pair of black sequined leggings flew past Jojo's nose. "You could wear this, this,
    or this." She plucked out a